


six shots of mountain whisky and sweet potato chips

by Rainsong



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: (depending on how you define it. idalia is a baby by human standards but an adult by centaur ones), (they don't ask for ID in Kushal), Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort Food, Deaf Character, Drinking, Drunkenness, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Homebrew Setting, I had to ask my dad and google for help with describing alcohols, Mistreatment of books, No Dungeons & Dragons Knowledge Required, Original Character(s), POV Third Person Limited, Past Tense, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainsong/pseuds/Rainsong
Summary: In which Kasper gets educated, Santino gets real, Idalia gets snacks, and everyone gets drunk.Based on Ella's prompt for a rattled Kasper who meets Santino and Idalia at a bar, with a happy drunk found-family ending. Original characters from our campaign Hunter's Mark.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s) & Original D&D Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	six shots of mountain whisky and sweet potato chips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rakukajas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rakukajas/gifts).

> This story is a long overdue trade with Ella. I'm sorry it took so long, Ella, and I hope you like it! <3
> 
> Thanks to Kasey and Kanan for beta reading!
> 
> Kasper is Kasey's character, Santino and Idalia are Kanan's, Mae and Grace are mine. Other characters mentioned are other player characters in our party or original characters created for this story.
> 
> **Trigger warnings:** Explicit language, discussion of violence and death, legal alcohol use, possibly underage alcohol use, discussion of pregnancy and breastfeeding, mention of fantasy racism.

A crow had been hopping around near a pair of discarded boots for the better part of ten minutes. Their owner sat a few feet away, sitting cross-legged on his coat, his vacant gaze wandering from the bird to the book in his lap, not seeming to notice that the wind was turning the pages for him. Eventually, the crow grew bored with the shoelace and took off. Kasper continued staring at the space it had been for a moment. With a groan of boredom, he leaned back, intending to lie down on the roof, but he shot up from the impact of a book on his back. Oh. That’s where he had put it. He pushed _A Treatise on Dwarven Sovereignty, 602–667_ aside and took another from the pile: _The Geology of the Northeast Coast of S’Aerus_. This one had pictures, at least. Well, maps. Maps that were far too complicated for Kasper to wrap his head around. He leafed through the first few chapters, reading only the headings and glancing at the maps, before casting it aside as well.

He’d spent the better part of the day on the roof above the University of Kushal’s kitchens, hiding (others might say “brooding”) and restlessly skimming through the driest tomes he could find in Maerlyn’s bookshelf. He had taken a nap on _Evocation Magic Notation, 13th__ Edition_ and had a good chuckle at Journey’s graffiti in _Great Philosophers of the 4th __Century_. The largest book, _Iolus’ Advanced Alchemical Notions_, had seemed promising, but it turned out to be a false cover on a journal. He had set it aside, not wanting to invade Maerlyn’s privacy, though it was tempting, now, as the pages of _Geology_ fluttered in the wind. He figured that was a sign that he should leave. He realized for the first time his arms were covered in goose pimples. It was long past dinner; the kitchen roof below him was as cold as the early autumn air. The sun was nearly set, though the light had changed little thanks to the clouds. Soon, reading would be too much strain, even on Kasper’s eyes. With a last pass over _Dwarven Sovereignty_, he gathered up the books in his satchel, tugged on his boots, and made his way to the wall he had scaled to get up to the roof.

The courtyard below was mostly empty, save for a pair of white-bearded professors who watched him from beneath a cluster of trees, trying to smoke their pipes in the damp air. They didn’t seem alarmed; the populace of the university was well acquainted with the antics of Hunter’s Mark. He began his descent, noticing every sharp brick and patch of moss along the wall. He jumped down the last few feet, landing in a flower bed.

“Sorry,” he said (to the chrysanthemums) as he dusted himself off.

He entered through the nearest door, which led to a corridor of classrooms. He walked quickly, trying to appear as though he had a purpose, towards Maerlyn’s dormitory. The door was held open by a paperweight. He knocked on the frame, then pushed it open after a beat.

“Maerlyn. I’m returning your books.”

“Oh! Thank you,” she said. “You can put them on the desk.”

Kasper realized, embarrassed, that she wouldn’t have heard his knock. She sat on her bed, Grace curled in her lap, balancing a notebook on her knee with a pot of ink and a teacup floating precariously near the sleeping cat, held aloft by a thin wisp of magic. A small pile of history books were accumulated on the pillow beside her.

“I’m sorry,” said Kasper, “I accidentally took a notebook, or journal. I didn’t read it.” Maerlyn hummed in response, scratching out something in her notes. “Also, Journey vandalized the book on philosophers. I don’t know if you knew.”

“Elvin Castshadow looks far better cross-eyed, honestly. Suits him. The racist bastard couldn’t see beyond his own nose.”

Kasper chuckled, flipping to the woodcut image of Castshadow. Indeed, Journey had rearranged his pupils and given him a pencil moustache on top of his existing beard. And below that, a quotation from his famous essay on the benefits of human imperialism, with a “what the fuck” in Maerlyn’s handwriting in the margin. Kasper shut the book and placed it with the rest on the desk, as instructed.

“I thought you went out with Santino and Idalia,” asked Maerlyn, as Grace stretched and jumped off the bed to inspect Kasper’s ankles.

“No?”

“Hm. Santino was looking for you. I think they’re a pub—the one with the tree. Or was it the one with the tortle bartender? One of those two.”

“Thanks. I’ll… I don’t know if I want to go out.”

“You should. And anyway, I need you to bring Santino a message.” She tossed him a hastily folded piece of paper with a gust of magic. Kasper caught it mid-air and pocketed it.

“Can’t you send your cat?”

“She’s busy.”

Grace rolled on his feet, purring with reckless abandon.

“I know you’re just trying to get me to go hang out with them.”

Maerlyn glanced up from her book, looking quite stern.

“It’ll do you good, Kas, I think. You’ve barely talked to anyone. I’m sorry, I just don’t have time to really chat, I have to finish these readings…”

“I get it.”

“Go have fun. Eat something. Don’t let Idalia wander off alone into the market like last time.”

“I’ll try.”

“And bring a jacket!”

“Yes, Mum.”

Kasper gave Grace’s chin a scratch, then pulled the door behind him until it hit the paperweight. Grace gave an indignant mew.

Kasper stepped out of the Little Pier Pub, reluctantly buttoning his coat against the evening chill. The pub was bustling, but lacked his friends. He considered staying there, or turning back to the university, but the other bar was really only a block away. It was properly dark now, but the lanterns were lit. The shops along the avenue were either closed or closing, but the bars and public houses were just waking up.

The Prince & Poplar wasn’t quite as busy as the Little Pier. Farmer had once called the establishment a “hidden gem”. The entrance was hidden in an alley, between a bakery and a haberdashery. For as long as anyone could remember, there was a poplar tree growing through the floor of the building and three storeys more. Several kenku families now lived on the upper floors, but the bottom had always been a pub. Here and there, roots poked through the dirt floor, some of them high enough that they had been turned into benches and tables. Kasper saw Santino and Idalia at one such table, Idalia kneeling on the floor. There were two pint glasses and an empty chip basket on the table.

“Why, though?” said Santino, absorbed in his conversation with Idalia.

“Because—Because that’s how it works! I don’t know!”

“That’s how what works?” said Kasper, sitting on the bench next to Santino.

“Idalia said centaur babies breastfeed from the horse nipples,” said Santino. Kasper frowned.

“Journey told me it’s centaur fathers that carry the babies and breastfeed.”

“No!” said Idalia, horrified. Santino’s face lit up.

“Are there sea centaurs? Maybe _they_ do! Hey, Idalia, are there sea centaurs?”

“Mer-centaurs? Centaurs of aquatic nature?” suggested Kasper.

“’Cause there’s merfolk and, like, sea elves and seahorses. And sea lions.”

“Sea lions aren’t—”

“No!” interrupted Idalia. “We can’t swim, Santino!”

“Too many limbs?” he said, frowning.

Idalia’s protest was stifled by the arrival of the waitress, a young, very tall half-elven woman.

“What can I get you, love?”

“Do you have any dark ales?”

“We just got a new keg of Crow’s Nest, or we have some Winterberry.”

“I’ll have the Crow’s Nest.”

Santino snorted, and Kasper saw him mouth the words “Crow’s Nest” in his general direction. He glared back.

“Anything to eat with that?”

“Oh, oh! Can we have more sweet potato chips? And beer!” asked Idalia, offering the empty dishes in exchange.

“Of course, love. Be right back,” said the waitress with a warm, genuine smile. Idalia’s drunken enthusiasm was always endearing to strangers, so Kasper was taken aback by her seriousness when the waitress left.

“How are you, Kasper? You… You disappeared yesterday,” said Idalia.

“I’m fine.”

Kasper felt both Santino and Idalia’s eyes scrutinizing him.

“I’m fine! How are… You? You guys?”

“I’m feeling sad, still. We didn’t do a very good job with the—job,” admitted Idalia.

“You did fine, though,” said Kasper. Idalia had saved all of their hides with _healing word_ during the mission.

“We all did fine,” said Santino. “It just wasn’t our best.”

“You’re putting that lightly,” said Kasper.

“It’s true! This shit happens.” Kasper fiddled with a stained coaster on the table, silent. Santino continued, frustrated. “Our job was to protect Lady Q and we did that. It sucks, but, like…”

“If we hadn’t been there, Lady Q and all her friends would have died,” added Idalia.

“If we hadn’t been there, the marquis would have sent someone else!” said Kasper, raising his voice. “Someone who wouldn’t make dumb mistakes,” he added, lowering his tone.

“It wasn’t dumb, Kasper,” said Idalia. “It wasn’t, okay? Not just anybody can do the stuff you do.”

“Two Sheepsfoot Pales, a Crow’s Nest, and another round of sweet potato chips,” said the waitress cheerily.

“Thank you,” said Kasper, pleased with the distraction.

“Enjoy!”

Kasper took three chips at once, stuffed them in his mouth and washed them down with a large gulp of ale. Idalia was still giving him that pitying look when he put down the glass. He stared back.

“We’re adventurers. Mercenaries, whatever,” said Santino, breaking the silence. “This. Shit. Happens. It happens to other groups and it happens to us and it’s gonna happen again. You can’t save everyone.”

“Why can’t we, though?” said Idalia, her face echoing the one Kasper had seen on her when the healing spell failed on Yasanna.

Nobody answered her question.

“It’s… It’s nobody’s fault. Right?” said Idalia.

“Yeah,” agreed Santino.

“I mean, the assassins are at fault. For trying to kill Lady Q,” said Kasper.

“I meant with us. As long as we’re trying to help people.”

“Yeah,” said Kasper, still not convinced.

“That was pretty clutch what Mae and Charlie did when the cart started rolling into the street. They saved all those pedestrians! And the lettuce!” said Santino, perking up at the memory.

“Oh! Mae told me to bring you a note,” said Kasper, retrieving it from his coat pocket. He slid it across to Santino, who fumbled while trying to open it. He leaned back to read it, holding it close to his face.

“What is it?” asked Idalia.

“It’s _private_,” said Santino, furrowing his brows at her over the top of the page. He scanned it for a moment, then handed it to Idalia in a way that Kasper couldn’t see. She frowned, then smiled, glancing at Kasper.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s _private_, Kasper,” parroted Idalia. As Santino took it back and folded it up, Kasper caught a glimpse and thought he saw his own name on the page.

“These chips are so good,” said Idalia, briskly changing the subject. “I would marry these chips.”

“You’re not old enough to get married,” said Kasper.

“I’m only joking. And yes I am!”

“Well, I would marry this stout,” said Santino, pulling the glass close to him. “It’s always there for me.”

“Hey, Idalia is always there for you, too,” said Kasper.

“Idalia isn’t alcoholic.”

“She may be becoming one,” said Kasper, as Idalia downed half of her glass of beer. Santino chuckled, and they watched her take another drink in stunned silence. None of Hunter’s Mark had figured out Idalia’s relationship to alcohol yet. She would get drunk after one drink, but could finish a keg and still walk in a straight line. Meanwhile, Kasper had seen other centaurs passed out before midnight. They seemed to have a low tolerance but inhuman stamina, as far as he understood it. He wondered if horses were the same.

“Why are they called sweet potato chips?” asked Idalia after a moment, clearing her throat.

“What do you mean?” said Kasper.

“They’re not really that sweet. And why are they orange?”

“They’re… Idalia, have you never seen a sweet potato?”

Idalia gave him a blank stare in response.

“Fun fact, sweet potatoes aren’t actually potatoes. They’re a relative. But they’re more closely related to potatoes than yams!” said Santino, holding a chip aloft as if to demonstrate. It was Kasper’s turn to give a bewildered stare. Since when did Santino know about botany? Santino popped the chip, then several more, into his mouth, without offering an explanation.

“So they’re like orange potatoes?” said Idalia.

“Yeah. And they’re a little sweeter. How have you never seen a sweet potato before?” said Kasper. “Journey stole a whole bunch from the kitchen of that sketchy restaurant last month. I’ve been finding them in my shoes ever since.”

“I don’t wear shoes,” said Idalia.

“Fair point.”

“I like them. They’re fun.”

“You like every kind of pub food you’ve tried so far,” pointed out Santino.

“I didn’t like the weird fish potato at the other place!”

“The seaweed chips?”

“No, the other one.”

“Kale chips?”

“No. Kale doesn’t grow in the ocean, Santino.”

“Do you mean the fish and chips?”

“Yeah!”

Kasper snorted, spraying a little bit of ale across the table. Santino was about to explain, but Kasper shook his head. _Let it go._

“How did you know where to find us?” asked Santino, instead.

“Mae said you had gone out. I checked the Little Pier, first.”

“We went there, but it was already packed. There was a birthday party. Or bachelor party? I’m not sure.”

“I like this place more anyway,” said Idalia. “The waitress is really nice and brings us sweet potato chips.”

“I think she has a crush on you,” said Kasper.

“What?”

“She keeps smiling at you when she comes by our table,” agreed Santino. “What’s her name? I always forget to ask.”

“Ugh… She said it last time, when we were with Farmer…” said Kasper. “Starts with an S sound…”

“Saoirse,” said Idalia.

“See, you know her well! She’s cute,” said Santino, raising an eyebrow. Idalia turned red.

“She’s pretty, but I don’t—”

“Another round?” said Saoirse, materializing. Kasper chugged the bottom of his glass—how had he gotten to the bottom already?—and passed it to her, grinning.

“Yes, please.”

“Idalia said she wants to try a different kind of beer. What else do you have?” said Santino.

“I didn’t—”

“We’ve got dark ale, pale ale, stout, porter, lager, and a few bottles left of that special cream ale we brought in for the festival. What are you feeling?”

“Uh… I don’t know what those words mean.”

“Ales have a hoppier taste than lagers. If you like a pale ale, you might like a dark or a cream ale as well. Our dark on tap is Crow’s Nest, which is pretty dry, or we’ve also got some Winterberry Dark, which is a bit fruity and a little pricier. Or the Adam & Son’s Cream Ale, which is quite mild.”

“I’ll try the Winterberry?” said Idalia, hesitantly.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll get you something new, no charge,” said Saoirse. “Refills for you two, or do you also want to try something new?”

“I’ll try a Winterberry, too,” said Santino.

“I’ll stick with this one,” said Kasper. Saoirse turned to leave. “Wait! Can I get a shot of whisky, too?”

“Sure thing! Is Mountain okay?”

“Yes. Santino, Idalia, do you want shots? I’ll buy them.”

Idalia smiled, and Santino nodded enthusiastically.

“Three shots of Mountain.”

_Six shots of Mountain, two rounds of ales, and a third basket of sweet potato chips later…_

“Listen. Listen. Listen. I love Marcy’s lizard. But that scaly bastard needs to stop sneaking up on me,” said Santino.

“You know what?” said Kasper, leaning in. “I bet half the time it’s not the lizard. It’s Marcy turned into the lizard just to fuck with you.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god you’re right.”

“If I was a druid,” said Idalia, her mouth full of the crispy bits of the chips, “I would turn into a bird and sit on the roof.”

“Kasper does that,” said Santino, matter-of-factly.

“What?” said Kasper.

“You were on the roof all day today!”

“I climbed there. I don’t turn into a bird.”

“Why should I believe you? I’ve never seen you climb up to a roof.”

“It’s called being quiet and sneaky!” said Kasper—not very quietly.

“I wish I could climb up to a roof,” said Idalia.

“Oh shit. Do you think Mae can teach me to levitate people?” said Santino.

“What if Marcy turned into a big bird—and I mean a big fuck off bird, like a, uh, roc, and he picked us up?” suggested Kasper.

“Woah.”

“I’m sleepy,” said Idalia, staring into the bottom of her glass. Kasper realized he was tired, too.

“Should we head back to the school?”

“Wait,” said Santino, holding up a finger. He downed the rest of his glass, and held it above his mouth for a moment to get the last drops. “Okay, now we can go.”

Kasper searched his pockets for a moment for his coin pouch. He stared at the wall, trying to do math.

“It’s nine silver and a copper for you,” said Saoirse, appearing out of thin air.

“Thanks,” said Kasper. “How much for everyone?”

“Three gold, one silver, five copper.”

“I got it.”

“You don’t have to do that, Kasper—” said Idalia, but Kasper had already put down four gold.

“Keep the change.”

“Thank you! Have a good night,” said Saoirse. “Get home safe,” she added, looking at Idalia.

“Thanks! We will,” said Santino, wiggling his eyebrows much less subtly this time.

“Thank you,” said Idalia, ignoring him. As soon as Saoirse was out of earshot (or Santino thought Saoirse was out of earshot), Santino giggled.

“She liiikes you.”

“Let’s go,” said Kasper, shaking his head. He offered his hand to Idalia, awkwardly helping her up until she towered over him. She had to duck to get out of the door, then a group of new patrons had to back out of the alley to let them out. Once on the street, Idalia rushed ahead, her hooves clattering on the cobblestones. She stopped at the intersection, waiting for them; Santino took a much slower pace.

“Hey. Slow down,” he complained, tugging on Kasper’s sleeve. Kasper sighed and offered his elbow, matching Santino’s pace. Santino looped his arm through it. Kasper was by no means sober. By any standards, none of them should have been walking home alone. A watchman tipped his hat to them as they passed, with a low “take care”. Santino waved back.

Idalia stopped and waited for them at the gate to the university. She had a sudden worried look on her face.

“Did I say thank you to Saoirse when we left?”

“I think so,” said Santino, squinting as he tried to recollect.

“Should I have said something to the watchman? He was nice.”

“Nah. Maybe?”

The night watchman let them into the castle, chuckling at their state.

“Thank you, Rhichard!” said Idalia, pointedly. “You’re a very kind man.”

“Just doing my job. Have a good night.”

“I wanna go to bed,” said Santino, burying his face into Idalia’s side. He stumbled as she kept walking. He leaned on Kasper’s shoulder instead.

“G’night Idalia,” said Kasper, yawning.

“Good night! I love you,” she replied, trotting down the hall to her ground-floor room.

“Love you,” mumbled Santino.

Kasper did his best to guide him up the stairs. Grace was sitting on the bannister. She blinked slowly at Kasper. He blinked slowly back. She stretched, then hopped down and led the way to Santino’s room.

“Hi Grace. Thank you. You’re a good egg,” said Santino. He crouched to pet her, but she just brushed against his knee and moved further down the hall towards Kasper’s room.

“G’night, Santino.”

“Night, Kas.”

Kasper smiled to himself, following the slightly out of focus form of Grace. She waited by the door until he opened it, gave him a headbutt to the calf, and trotted towards the stairwell, presumably back to Mae’s room. How she got in and out of doors was a mystery to Kasper.

He didn’t bother lighting any lamps. He kicked off his boots, threw his coat in the vague direction of the closet, and collapsed onto his bed.

“Ow. Ow?”

There was a sweet potato on his pillow.


End file.
